


Ghosters

by ValkyrieStorm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-09-24 22:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9789725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValkyrieStorm/pseuds/ValkyrieStorm
Summary: Post-Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione is arrested for Unsanctioned Obliviation of her parents, and is recruited into a specialized branch of Obliviators instead of incarceration. Her employment causes her to constantly run into the love-unlucky Marcus Flint.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read thanks to Tanguera!

"Mum? Dad?" Hermione watched their glazed stares clear with a few blinks.

"Hermione?"

Hearing her mother breathe out her name wiped away the stress and anxiety of the past two months. Hermione's knees buckled as her father's arms wrapped around her shoulders. Gone was the heartbreak of counting the dead, the mass-burial of unclaimed bodies, splitting up from Ron, and weeks frantically tracking the movements of her obliviated parents. The Grangers held their sobbing daughter between them, struggling to make sense of their newly merged memories.

It was hours later that they could sit on the sofa and form complete sentences: Hermione from relief and regret, and her parents from shock and anger. Her father still vibrated when he thought too long on it.

"So now that you're not stealing free will, and a person's basic right to choose, have you at least finished your paganistic education?" her father grumbled out, watching his wife continue to smooth her hands over Hermione's hair. Hermione winced. "So, a drop-out as well. Fuck's sake."

"Well you'll just have to go back and finish up, won't you dear?" Mrs. Granger smacked her husband on the arm.

"I will. There's an option to write my NEWTs without returning to Hogwarts, which is still under construction. But what about you two? Will you come back to England?"

Her father snorted. "And what? Return from the fucking dead? You think the NCA won't cotton on to two dentists who disappear, then suddenly renew their practice insurance? We'd be first on the list of suspected criminals, as we somehow found a way to forge lives and passports and all. " Her mother smacked him on the arm again. The swearing was a Wendell Wilkins habit that evidently stuck, and Hermione wondered what else about her parents was new.

"We've managed to build lives here. If we moved now, we would probably draw too much attention."

Hermione nodded, her parents had always been sensible, and she was glad the obliviation hadn't taken taken that away. As much as her father grumbled about 'five fuckin' years in school gone,' her mother reassured her that they would be fine in their lives as the very comfortably retired Wilkins couple.

"I'll write." A week wasn't enough to dissolve the lump in her throat, as her mother drew back. Her father nodded gruffly, pulled her into a tight hug, then gently pushed her away.

"Go on then. Get those NEWTs now."

The international portkey left Hermione debilitated for few moments, the dusty floor of Grimmauld Place wavering in her vision. The tears didn't help. She was already home-sick for her parents. The house around her was silent, even Kreacher's usual banging of pots and pans in the kitchen was absent. Hermione thought: 'Harry must be visiting at the Burrow.' She waited for the hint of nausea from the portkey travel to fade, then shrugged, 'Might as well register for my NEWTs.' She threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace, not trusting her abilities to apparate without getting splinched with her current emotions, straightened her shoulders and announced, "Ministry of Magic."

Floo was eminently more agreeable that Portkey, even with the light coating of soot. Hermione stepped out of the common Floo fireplace, brushing off her shoulders, and collided with a man. She bounced and stumbled to regain her footing, only to crash to the ground when her arms and legs were magically bound. She looked up to face three aurors, penning her in and was levitated upright, as the most senior auror with the badge name 'Crowley' unrolled a scroll of parchment.

"Hermione Granger, you are hereby accused of 'Unsanctioned Obliviation'." His deep tones that echoed through the hall. The Floo fireplaces were still flaring up green, and travellers paused or worse stopped to stare in curiosity. The tears welled up again, Hermione couldn't decide if she was more angry or embarrassed. Her actions had been necessary during a war, surely there would be leniency. No one stepped in to defend her, she recognized none of the faces past the auror uniforms. Before she was prodded to follow the lead auror, Hermione spotted a man. He was shorter than average at her own height, clean shaven with sandy blond hair, wearing muggle business clothes with a black robe overtop; his lips slightly quirked in a thoughtful toothless smile. The only reason Hermione's brain pointed him out from the rest of the crowd was the complete lack of surprise in his expression.

 

* * *

 

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Please don't worry about the owl drawing attention, it has been disillusioned until it reaches the recipient. None of your neighbours will ask uncomfortable questions about foreign species frequenting your home. The owl belongs to Auror Christoph Hans, and the parchment is also spelled to only be visible to you. Consequences of my past actions have caught up to me._

Hermione scanned the spartan windowless room, hand and feet spellbound, sitting on a plain wooden chair at a plain wooden table. Crowley stated, "Obliviator Hans will speak with you," then shut the door behind him. She waited, shivering from nerves and the cold of the room, until the door creaked open and the sandy blond man entered. He was still smiling without showing teeth, opening the door just enough to slip through before closing it again. With a flick, two scrolls unrolled and were placed on the tabletop in front of her, and he gestured to read as he sat with a creak of knees.

"Now my dear, you are in quite a bit of trouble." His enunciation and diction was perfect, his words almost sung with a tinge of an Austrian accent. "A war heroine charged with unsanctioned obliviation during war time. Caught upon returning from an unsanctioned obliviation reversal, and though close friends with the acting Minister, it is during a time when said Minister is trying to weed out corruption and the unethical." Hermione read the charges on the first scroll with a sinking heart, and she knew Kingsley couldn't overlook her crimes. It would undermine all the work and effort he was expending to rebuild the Ministry with a strong foundation. He hadn't even done more than slightly shake of his head, refusing to meet her gaze, when he passed by the holding area to the Head Auror's office. She turned to the second scroll. "So you have two options." It looked like a contract of employment. "Option 1. Be placed under house arrest with no magic for the next three years, which is rather fair considering it's not Azkaban and you know how to function as a muggle. Option 2. You work for me."

"For - for the Obliviators?"

"Yes. I thought your spellwork quite neat. You obviously have talent. No NEWTs, yet still successful in performing a reversible Obliviation and the reversal. You will study for your NEWTs in the next eight months, take them, then join the Obliviators under my command for four years. You will find my branch requires a… delicate touch. Everything is aboveboard and transparent. A note will be on your record of taking this employment, in exchange for being incarcerated. You will be my tenant and under my supervision, so I will be aware of your movements at all times."

_On the bright side, I will complete my NEWTs and have employment._

_There are Obliviators that deal specifically with romantic affiliations between the magical and muggles. They produce a phenomenon muggles call 'ghosting'; it is when a personal relationship ends without warning, explanation or further communication. Officially, I will be in the Interrelations and Mediation branch of the Obliviators, which is more aptly called 'the Ghosters.'_

_Please don't worry, and if you have any response to send off, Tybalt (yes, Hans has named the owl after a Capulet) will stay for a few hours before returning._

_With love,_

_Hermione_


	2. Noises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their friends have moved on to forget the horrors of war. Hermione and Seamus work through their NEWTs and Auror training together, dealing with the isolation and consequences of battle-won fame.

Beta-read thanks to Tanguera! Reviews are very much appreciated!

* * *

 

Hermione stared at her planner… 'Well, bollocks.' Without worrying about Ron or Harry, or the next Voldemort related crisis, she either repeated her usual study schedule multiple times or had huge gaps of free time. Normally, this wasn't an issue as she had classes, or friends. But while Harry and Ron were great at including her at Hogwarts, they were rubbish at corresponding by owl. Neither Harry or Ron realized she had moved out of Grimmauld Place until Hermione wrote them her new mail address. Harry's life goals had shifted from staying alive, to hiding from paparazzi and trying to plan a wedding next year with Ginny. Ron was frantically trying to keep up with the training schedule as a reserve keeper for the Chudley Cannons, while doing his utmost to get off the bench. Hermione's lips twisted wryly at that; she wasn't surprised that he was having difficulty with time-management, after years of Ron using the crutch of having the same classes as Harry. 'Well, shite. I will have to actually take Seamus up on his offer.'

The Irishman was gripping his hair with one hand and running fingers along lines his textbook with the other, muttering darkly. Hermione slid into the pub's booth and tipped the book upwards to scan the title, Advanced Potion-Making. Seamus grinned at her and flicked his fingers in a quick wave at the waitress slowly nodding off at the bar.

"Hermione! Merlin, I just can't get a handle on this stuff." Hermione ordered a butterbeer, and shut the book, nearly trapping Seamus' fingers between the pages. "Hey! No need for that. I've been following your crazy schedule and as soon as potions comes up I get all boss-eyed." He studied his fingers for any papercuts and slanted his gaze at his study partner, as she drummed her fingers on the chipped laminate.

"I think that we should take a different approach." Hermione slowly drawled out as if not yet finished the thought. "We'll start brewing all the potions that they could test." Seamus' brows scrunched up in disbelief.

"What? All of them?" Hermione sipped at the delivered butterbeer and squinted.

"Look Seamus, it's only the two of us these days, I'm not going to let you fail your potions NEWT without exhausting all options."

He cleared his throat. "Right. Well, you know that it's easier for them to move on by forgetting. And we're the only ones we _know_ are taking the NEWTs, maybe there'll be more familiar faces when we take the exams. Any idea on what you're doing afterwards?" Hermione tapped her fingers. "You already know I'll be trying out at the auror academy." She nodded, thinking about her set future as an Obliviator. What would her new study partner think of her, if he knew she was a criminal? Her attention was caught by a flicker in her peripheral vision. Two overweight aurors, off-duty with robes askew, were listening closely to the quidditch team draft picks on the Wizarding Wireless. Seamus followed the line of her gaze and frowned. "And possibly upping my cardio. Fancy jogging with me? Might be nice to run without Death Eaters behind you."

Hermione blinked. She hadn't dwelled on the physical aspect of being an Obliviator, though Christoph had mentioned her having to go through the auror academy training.

The aurors seemed disgruntled hearing Marcus Flint's name by exclaiming, "Blighter bet'er not take the piss, 'e's a right ponce all prettied up af'er joinin' tha' muggle rugby."

"Eh, but tosser's pulling more tho'."

She tapped Seamus' potions text, "We run, then we brew. Deal?"

* * *

Hermione knew she was a perfectionist, enough that she warned Seamus she would take all the allotted time for their last exam in potions, and would meet him at the cafe afterwards. The room was tiny with only a dozen people who had elected to test for NEWTs, the majority were mature students or distant acquaintances from Hogwarts. Hermione vaguely recalled Seamus waltzing out of the room with a spring in his step half and hour earlier, she had technically finished forty-five minutes early, but had wanted to revise her answers.

The cafe was situated a few shops down from the Ministry. Hermione turned the corner and almost stumbled. Christoph was shaking hands with Seamus as they stood above two empty teacups and saucers. Her 'supervisor' half-turned and noticed Hermione a few yards away, and waved her over with a languid sweep of his wrist.

"My dear, I have met your study partner at last. Mr. Finnigan has agreed to joining you as Obliviators once you two have finished at the academy." Seamus almost vibrated in place with excitement.

"Hermione, why didn't you tell me you had early conditional placement?" Hermione felt her cheeks heat up and she opened her mouth to stammer out an excuse, but Christoph interrupted.

"Mr. Finnigan, that is entirely my doing. My preference is that her placement, and now yours, not be announced until you have completed basic auror training. I have seen too many prospective candidates fall below my expectations, though I very much doubt will happen in your case. You understand my caution, yes?" Seamus nodded eagerly. "Well, I have several appointments to keep. I look forward to seeing your NEWT and Academy marks." Hermione was left with Seamus with no more than a head tilt and toothless smiles. She couldn't help smiling back at the grin that threatened to split her friend's face. At least, she wouldn't be alone.

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Auror Hans calls all of Tybalt's mice Romeo. Thought you would get a kick out of that._

_Training is going well, there's quite a lot to learn for ethics and procedure. There's also a bit of competitive spirit amongst my class, which just drives us to do our best._

_..._

"Come off it. Haven't you two wasted enough or our time now?" Seamus and Hermione kept stretching, trying to ignore the hovering idiot that had been badgering them since day one. Travis Goren was an alright bloke, to those he didn't view as obstacles, then he was a right asshole. "Being an auror isn't just about books. We don't need you freezing up in the field, or breaking them chicken legs, and putting the rest of us at risk." Travis and his usual bully-boys - all from families who had gone into hiding or had fled the country upon Voldemort's return - surrounded the two, confident with the absence of their instructor and other classmates at the end of their first practical combat session.

Seamus and Hermione could only laugh after each day of training; trainees touched by the war treated them with a faint air of deference from fear or admiration, while others tried to set up aggro pissing matches in response to what they felt was unearned respect. Goren was from a long line of MLE witches and wizards, he was already in the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol ingratiating himself with all the right MLE seniors, expecting his several months of field experience to carry him through Auror Academy with ease. On the first day, his toadying attempts had been dashed when the instructor recognized Hermione and Seamus from the Prophet. They had both winced and deflected reflexively, both recalling the exhaustion and dirt smearing their faces at the time of the candid photograph, but the damage had been done. Goren's lanced pride had turned him sullen and spiteful towards them.

"Look Goren, lay off yeah? If m'chicken legs don't make the cut, then that's on Proudfoot to say." Seamus was careful to not make eye contact with their loud-mouthed classmate, quickly measuring the distance to the exit and discreetly giving Hermione their 'trouble' signal. Hermione switched legs and noted the only other female candidate slipping out the door with a worried expression. Veruca Grimsby was a tall sturdy woman who grimaced with Hermione in solidarity over the blatant sexism. As she tried to slide her palm further past her toes, Hermione hoped Veruca was retrieving one of their instructors. It had been almost a month of Goren frothing at the mouth, and the adrenaline from the session was channeling his hate into confrontation.

The first punch aimed at the side of Seamus' head glanced off as he tucked and rolled. A kick connected with his ribs when Hermione's yelp momentarily distracted him. Seamus tried to quickly disarm his opponent and dodge hexes, throwing up a shield charm as he sidestepped closer to Hermione. Her wand lay splintered on the ground and she emitted a constant stream of silent wandless spells, struggling to ignore her battle instincts and disarm without serious injury. Hermione felt like her nose was broken and her bruise salve stock would need to be replenished after today. Although she didn't particularly mourn Bellatrix's wand, she was annoyed with the additional task of purchasing a new wand. Seamus' hip hit hers before his shield expanded to include her.

"Do you remember that wall curse? Keep up the shield." Hermione murmured. Seamus grinned and fumbled before he interlaced his fingers with hers. Behind his shoulder, Arabic tumbled from her lips before the change in pressure made his ears pop. Their attackers flew back and hung in various positions, glued to the far wall. The two Gryffindors sighed before relaxing and tending to their injuries. Veruca and Proudfoot burst through the door and took in the scene of Goren and four other men struggling to detach from a wall, their feet kicking several feet from the floor.

"What is the meaning of this?" Proudfoot watched as Seamus traced his wand tip along Hermione's bridge then flicking, producing a sickening snick as her cartilage straightened. Veruca answered as Hermione made Seamus hold up the hem of his shirt to examine his reddened side.

"Sir, I left to find you when Goren started harassing them verbally."

Proudfoot watched as Seamus handed over his wand for Hermione to run a diagnostic on his ribs, his face darkened when it indicated a cracked rib.

"Granger, Finnigan, explain."

Hermione returned Seamus' wand back to him. "Sir, I cursed the wall with an augmented flypaper spell. We were defending ourselves." Her knees locked to hold up under Hermione's fear, if they voided the agreement with Hans for excessive force she would be in Azkaban before tomorrow. Proudfoot ran diagnostic spells over the five men against the wall. The auror nodded.

"Grimsby, escort Granger and Finnigan to the medi-witch. I will see you three bright and early tomorrow." His tone brooked no discussion, and Hermione almost flew out into the hall, relief quickening her steps. Veruca followed them in silence for a few minutes, then she asked,"Why aren't you angry?"

Seamus and Hermione glanced at each other before laughing. Seamus shrugged, "What we've been through? They're flies. Thanks for getting Proudfoot."

Veruca hands curled into fists.

"If it were me, I'd be furious. Are you pressing charges?" Seamus was already shaking his head. Hermione bit her lip before carefully answering, "You notice how everyone treats us? There's already unconscious and conscious bias and favoritism. We would be aggravating the situation, and causing potential future difficulties."

Seamus snorted. "Hermione's saying: people like us _now_ , we whinge, become aurors, and they might start thinking we didn't earn it proper-like." Veruca blanched. He nodded at her horrified expression. "Yeah. An' we aren't narks."

* * *

Seamus scanned their surroundings before slicing a bit of singed hair from one of Hermione's curls, then vanishing it. "Who was it this time?"

Hermione didn't even look up from her scribbling.

"Monteith. Had to get his scrotum reattached." Seamus recoiled.

"Oi! That's right harsh." Hermione nodded and took a sip from her ale. "So that's all of them you've duelled now. Think they've learned better?"

"They've learned they're shite at hand to hand. It's like their brains turn off as soon as their wands comes out."

Seamus snickered, "That's about right for all men."

Hermione chuckled, "You know what I mean, Seamus. They'd be rubbish against a muggle with a left hook faster than their wand-work. Any DA member would have them down in a blink."

Seamus raised his eyebrows. "Aye, but they don't know that. We've sandbagged the whole time."

They sat in a booth with a sticky table at a muggle pub, filling out index cards on law enforcement acts and regulations to memorize. The rugby game on the television caused a cheer or cursing to infrequently interrupt the low murmur.

"Isn't that Marcus Flint?" Seamus set down his pen and Hermione looked up to see the older Slytherin in a navy uniform on the screen, ball in his hands. "Didn't recognize him at first without the unibrow. He's right fit now." Hermione grinned, she hoped Seamus didn't think he was fooling anyone, the flex of those strong thighs was rather distracting.

"Speaking of fit. You asked out that clerk yet? Blake, wasn't it?" Seamus flushed bright red. Hermione smirked. "Been attached at the hip to you for the past year. I'm not that dense."

The Irishman mumbled out, "He's too much of a giggler. 'Sides, with exams so close, shouldn't get too distracted and cock it all up."

Hermione nudged his pen towards him and Seamus groaned before picking up and unwrapping another stack of bright cardstock.

* * *

Seamus leaned against the cool window pane, trying to keep awake while waiting for Hermione. He had left the auror exams early just like during their NEWTs and knew she was just revising for the umpteenth time. A shadow fell over him and he turned to see the justifiably worried face of Monteith.

"Look, we're going to run into each other once in a while, working in the same department. H-How do…" Seamus had to give the sputtering man credit, once his scrotum was restored, he had the balls to own up and move forward.

"Word of advice, yeah?" The man in front of him nodded frantically. "'Mione doesn't give a rat's arse you're an idiot, 'til your shite spills over, she'll just let you roll out 'nough rope to hang with. Just leave it alone, or she'll light you on fire while your feet are still kickin'." Seamus turned back to lean his forehead against the window, signalling the conversation over. He listened to Monteith's uneven steps fade away and rolled his eyes. Honestly, the pissants always forgot she was bloody logistics for Potter.


	3. Moving Objects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Seamus survive the Auror academy, and struggle to find some semblance of routine. Seamus can't help feeling completely out of his depth with the attractive and flirtatious Blaise Zabini. Hermione struggles to maintain her professionalism in the face of frequent case subject Marcus Flint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read thanks to Tanguera! Reviews are very much appreciated!

Hermione stared out at the crowd of well-wishers, surrounded by her fellow Auror graduates on the stage. Seamus standing beside her and discreetly squeezing her trembling hand lightly in solidarity. It was a reflex for them to hide and disappear in a crowd, and even with a Calming Draught, all their instincts were screaming at them to run with so many faces turned towards them. They stood together, twitching and stifling giggles. The verbiage of the ceremony was stiff and pompous, directly contrasting their months of back-alley duels and dodging both politics and paparazzi. After Goren had been failed out for unethical conduct, his friends had either distanced themselves, or became more covert in their bullying attempts.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I am officially starting my new position next week. Out of our entire class, only Seamus, Monteith and I have been approved for the Obliviator squad; though Christoph has not accepted Monteith into his branch, likening his wand-work to a lumbering dragon in a fireworks warehouse._

_After the ceremony, Seamus and I didn't stay for the reception. I've sent you our celebration pictures._

…

Seamus waved good-bye to his parents before dragging Hermione into a quiet corner.

"Merlin, thought they'd never leave. I've got to get out of here." Hermione sagged against the brick wall and nodded. "Good, there's a funfair in Chelsea."

After a few rides and eating a kilo of candy floss, Seamus bodychecked Hermione into a sticky photo booth and tugged on her curls as the corners of her eyes crinkled in too absent mirth. She wrapped her arms tight around his shoulders and gave his cheek a wet kiss as he scrunched up his eyes against the next flash. He smashed the last of the candy floss against her turned away chin as she laughingly flailed.

Seamus collected the pictures and handed Hermione her copy when they were draped over a dilapidated picnic table. They both studied the pictures for a moment, Hermione smiled sadly.

"It's sad, isn't it? I can't remember how long ago I smiled like this in a photo." Seamus banished his to the safety of his flat, and swung her up to perch in his lap, hooking his chin onto her shoulder.

"Then we make this our yearly jaunt, yeah? Spite the fuckers tried to kill us, can't give 'em satisfaction of not living it up." He knew his screaming nightmares weren't nearly as bad as Hermione's, and she saw more than the phantom blood and soot overlaying his face every time he used a mirror. "What did you say to Monteith? Managed to get the pale sod whiter."

Hermione smirked as she remembered the hard handshake she had shared with their classmate. "Don't let down your side, now." Seamus barked out a peal of laughter.

* * *

Seamus shrugged when Hermione glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. They stood in Deputy Chief Obliviator Christoph Hans' office, holding a red folder each containing their first assignment.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Is it particularly wise for a team to be made of two junior Obliviators?"

Hans made a shooing motion with his hand. "As your superior, you are obligated to think all my decisions wise." Hermione shrugged back at Seamus.

Their first assignment sat sobbing her eyes out onto Seamus' shoulder in the hallway, while he fished out anything in his pockets that resembled a tissue or handkerchief. He patted her hair and murmured nonsense, trying not to wince at the loud crashes of fragile objects meeting hard surfaces at high speeds inside the flat.

The young witch blubbered, "I knew he was Catholic but I didn't realize it would be this bad."

There was a loud thump and the door was yanked open by a slightly ruffled Hermione, brushing glass off her black coat before firing off a steady stream of non-verbal repairing spells. Seamus gently sat Amanda down on the couch, ignoring the squirming man on the floor.

"Right. Why don't you tell us how you want to go about this, lovey."

"I-I'm pregnant. Jack's the father and now...how can I trust our baby with him?"

Seamus pulled out his notebook, asking both the official and unofficial questions: whose name was the apartment under, was she financially dependent on Jack, did she want to keep the baby, would she consider carrying to term, did she have any family or friends able to support her. When Jack stopped fighting against the bonds, Hermione partially removed the spell from Jack's mouth, crossing her fingers that he would cooperate. The vitriol that spewed forth made both junior Obliviators wince and Amanda shed fresh tears. Hermione reapplied the gag and quickly scanned Jack's thoughts, and then minutely shook her head in response to Seamus' silent question.

"You can't stay here without endangering yourself and the Wizarding World, you know that?" Amanda sadly nodded.

* * *

Jack Hall peeled his eyelids open to a paramedic snapping fingers in his face.

"Sir, can you see me, can you hear me?" He groaned and tried to sit up, fighting against the hand against his shoulder.

"What happened?"

"Don't sit up just yet. Your neighbours called 999 when they heard a loud crash. The constables found you unconscious in glass, we think you tripped up of the rug and landed on your coffee table. We're taking you to the A&E. You have a severe concussion."

"Your CT scan shows the swelling went down. Amnesia and confusion is common for concussions, you didn't lose consciousness for long and your vision and coordination seems normal. But you say you've lost memories from months ago? They may return after a week or so."

'Or never.' Hermione thought to herself. She stood disillusioned tucked into a corner of the examination room. They were responsible for Jack's amnesia, his missing weeks if not months of time. Seamus had left to sort out arrangements with Amanda, and Hermione had invisibly stalked Jack for his forty-eight hour observation period. Standing on the step and clinging to the back of the ambulance, following Jack's gurney to his room, and standing in a shadowed corner. She tracked for any mention of Amanda, flicking her wand to alter Jack's social media memories of her, his mother and father's memories when they came rushing in separately, and surreptitiously altering the memories of the friends he contacted the most.

It was two in the morning two days later, when Hermione got back to headquarters and found Seamus at their shared desk. His hair was still wet from a shower, scribbling out the last edits on their report with one hand, and sorting several yellow files by priority level and date with the other. She read it over his shoulder then signed her name at the bottom. Amanda was lucky that St. Mungo's had an external magical womb open up in time to take the little foetus.

"Hans says usual procedure is to take minimum a day off after each red file." Hermione tried to count the number of red files at the next desk of Obliviator Poole, Seamus rolled his eyes. "Poole apparently needed a whole week after the last one." She grabbed the oldest red file she could see, underneath a moldy carton of Chinese take out.

"Does he really expect us to? There's a half dozen files here. This poor man's been waiting for assistance two months now."

Seamus grinned, tossing the red file and attached report into their outbox. "He said you have to nap at least an hour between each one. I even made us a bunk." He showed her a ring attached to the linoleum tiled floor under their desk, with a yank it flipped up to show a tiny room below the floor with just enough space and headroom for two sleeping cots.

* * *

In hindsight, subsisting on hour long naps while cleaning up after heartbroken witches and wizards was obviously a route towards disaster. Besides erasing the existence of witches and wizards after their lovers rejected the existence of magic, there were: muggle womanizers who found out how dangerous a scorned witch could be, wizard womanizers who labelled muggle women as easy pickings, liaising with St. Mungo's and the Muggle Liaison Office to help medi-witches justify dispensing potions for STIs, filling out adoption paperwork, filling out external womb paperwork, and relocating the temporarily homeless lovelorn.

On their fifteenth file, Seamus got hurt.

"Piss off Hermione!" His partner just flicked his nose in response, then went back to running diagnostics. "It's bad enough you dragged me in here, now you can't even let the healers do their fucking job!" Said healer entered the room and raised an eyebrow at his prone patient trying to yank out Hermione's hair or smack her, without moving his legs. Blaise Zabini cleared his throat to announce his presence. The two Obliviators froze, and Blaise watched with interest as Finnigan's face flushed under his freckles.

"I'll do my job, but I require at least a hello before I get to fucking." The Slytherin smirked as Seamus' blush reddened further. "Oh, you do blush nicely. No circulation problems above the shoulders, but I'm more interested in below." Hermione stepped back and gestured with a little smile.

"All yours Zabini."

The healer started casting over Seamus. "Mine, you say? What a delicious thought, Granger." Then frowned. "How did you shatter both your legs and pelvis?"

Seamus stuttered, "J-jumping, well, a-actually falling. F-from a building, er half a building." Hermione put him out of his misery.

"He tried to tackle one of our cases, and got thrown out a window ten stories up. The spells we managed to get out were too weak to cancel the impact." Blaise handed two doses of Skele-Grow for Seamus to choke down, setting the bones with continuous flicking and swirls of his wand.

"You won't be up to any rough activity, fun or otherwise for a week. Such a shame." Zabini rested a cool hand on Seamus' ankle, then clucked his tongue when his patient jumped. "Easy, baby. Don't wreck my work so soon."

Hermione choked down a snort. She knew when her partner was attracted to a man, hell Seamus wasn't shy about using her as a wing woman to get laid. Blaise Zabini was in a whole other league to what Seamus was used to. Even in school, the man had a reputation as a hedonist of the highest order. The Prophet loved to document, in almost graphic detail, the lavish and romantic details of the socialite's past monogamous and polygamous relationships; speculating on his out of character employment and subsequent single status.

Blaise cast a few more spells to prevent arthritis. "All done. Nothing more than a slow stroll, no strenuous activity for a week and desk duty for two weeks. Got it?" At Seamus' nod. "I'd rather see you often outside an examination room. Though injured a month into a job doesn't bode well, does it love?" He tapped the medical chart then left humming.

Hermione's upside-down brightly grinning face took up his whole field of vision, as Seamus continued laying prone on the examination table, trying to will away the start of an erection. Seamus looked into her whiskey eyes.

"I'm fucked, aren't I?"

"He's assigned to Obliviators. You most likely will be soon."

* * *

Perhaps they had kept going because they could escape the nightmares, or get the adrenaline rush after a childhood of peril and abrupt withdrawal, or just making a difference; it sure wasn't to make others look bad in whatever trumped up imaginary competition. Obliviator Poole finally surfaced after almost a full month, and the ranting blowhard was accusing them of… Seamus actually wasn't sure what Obliviator Poole was saying. The man was literally frothing at the mouth in rage, puffing himself up and trying to intimidate by invading personal space. Hermione didn't even look up from the report she was writing.

Seamus shrugged and continued sorting today's batch of the never-ending stream of magically updating files, churned out of a rickety printing press that monitored the interaction of auras between resident British wizard-kin and muggles. They had managed to clear the backlog of red folders past the current month, before they were made aware others were monitoring their closure rate. Hans had re-delegated most of their non-urgent yellow files, and deflected as much politicking as possible, staving off his superiors' glee at having war heroes as his best Obliviator team inside a month.

Senior Obliviator pushed his rotund belly into Seamus the third and last time, igniting the frustration of having desk duty for another two days. Seamus gripped a jovial looking hand on Poole's shoulder, crushing flesh between his fingers while his other hand jabbed his wand against the belly forming a sweat stain in his robes. Speaking low, Seamus snarled out. "Neither Hermione or I give two fucks about closure rate. Get the bloody job done. Enough dosh for a pint and some chips at the end of the day. None of what I said has anything to do with you. So jog on!" Hermione on her part cast a shielded perimeter that pushed blustering Poole away from their desk.

It was enough of an incident that Hans suggested Seamus leave desk duty early for an easy yellow file, and that's how they ended up drinking with an exhausted Marcus Flint at a wizard pub.

"I don't get them. Purse dogs. It shat in her purse." Hermione healed the last niffler scratches from the athlete's face, ignoring Seamus' rambling treatise on domestication and breed functions of dogs. The glittery girlfriend and purse dog obliviated from remembering Flint's pet niffler attacking first the dog, then the girlfriend defending the dog, then Marcus trying to protect his girlfriend's newly botoxed face.

"Well, I'm surprised you're not dating pure-blood witches." His breath warm against her chest, as she peered into the cut to extract a broken-off claw. Hermione sat back trying to shake off the residual warmth of his large hands, supporting her waist when she knelt up on the booth seat to get at a laceration at the top of his scalp. Tugging her robes to cover her suddenly hard nipples.

Marcus raised a bisected eyebrow. "That's a bit prejudiced Granger, after all that effort fighting a war against it."

Seamus chimed in. "You're Sacred Twenty-Eight, mate. And playing both rugby and quidditch? Don't know how you worked that out, by the by. Thought you'd have loads of birds flocking."

Mark nodded and drained half his glass. "Failed my exams, avoiding an arranged marriage and getting out of being marked. They cut me off. No pure-blood bird wants a Sacred Twenty-Eight without the vaults. Mind, not a peddler, earned it honest I did. But I've known most those girls since birth, nearly all of them - harpies."

"I know perfectly nice pure-blood witches." Hermione countered, keeping her eyes focused on Seamus and her beer rather than the flex of Flint's arm right beside her.

"Aye, but none are angling for you to marry and fund their lives. Plus they'd all ask me to give rugby up."

At Hermione's confused expression, Seamus explained. "Wizards actually like rugby, think it's a great laugh, but just a laugh. Only ones serious about it are the Wizarding Supporters of Scottish Rugby Union."

Marcus nodded. "They approached me, see if I wanted to play during quidditch off-season. Tried out and got signed, then they got me an assistant who negotiated my quidditch contract. I'm told when and where I'm supposed to be, and get to play both."

Seamus laughed when he ordered another round for the three of them. "Yeah, and earning loads from both ain't a hardship." Marcus grinned and shrugged, starting on his second Guinness. Not noticing Seamus waggle his eyebrows at Hermione, who was trying to scrunch up against the wall so her thigh wasn't pressed as tightly against their case. Marcus Flint was a big man in general, and her rebellious brain pondered how much she would ache, trying to wrap her legs around his hips while he plowed into her.


	4. Apports and Disapports

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seamus and Hermione may be excellent Ghosters but are hopeless in the face of attraction. Seamus can't stop breaking himself long enough to see Blaise outside of St. Mungo's, and Hermione uses conflict of interest as a shield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read thanks to Tanguera! Reviews are very much appreciated!

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Thanks for the tin of biscuits. Are you sure you aren't magical? They sealed Seamus' mouth shut for a good hour._

_Hans toddler is chewing everything in sight, there's sections of soggy drywall everywhere. Once they found out Mindy never fails to pass out in my lap within 15 minutes, I've been designated the Sunday night babysitter. It's hilarious and a little sad how sleep deprived they are._

_Met Marcus again, this time when he had to defend himself magically against his paramour's husband. Didn't even know she was married. Poor guy just can't find stable women, it's the third time we've ended up taking him to the pub with us._

_The Weasleys are doing well. Ginny and Harry eloped. Molly wasn't happy at all, until she found out Gin's two months along. Yes, Ron and I are all past everything. Though it's hard to coordinate our schedules to just catch up, they keep changing the dates of his public appearances and I never know when my cases will wrap up._

...

Seamus checked his watch obviously. Hermione hid her smile when he signed 'Shut up.' discreetly to her, and instead drawled out, "Dental hygiene is a personal choice and responsibility." His besotted future-wife was also tiring from the mediation and repetitive explanations of the wizarding world, to her accepting if not offensive fiance; who had finally stopped asking about brooms and wands, and moved on to warts and bad teeth.

Seamus rubbed his hands over his hair, fluffing up the gelled coiffure, while exhaling a string of fucks. Hermione buttoned up her black suit jacket, casting a warming charm against the chill of the night.

"Better than Amanda and Jack."

Seamus shoved his hands into his leather jacket. "Not by bloody much. Merlin, I need a smoke." Hermione flicked his cheek. He flinched away. "Not saying I will."

"It's a disgusting habit, and you'd never keep up with Blaise if you did. You'd be puffing and wheezing like an octogenarian." Hermione smirked at the red tips of her partner's ears, and it grew wider when he muttered.

"Might be all hype."

She laughed and twirled, enjoying the space of their empty side of lamp-lit cobblestone. "Only one way to find out!" Their black muggle dress-clothes pulled the black of night in close, the lamplight barely keeping them from fading into the darkness. Seamus knew the endorphins of a closed case were hitting her hard, enjoying random movement and glint of jewelry before becoming invisible for moments between pools of light. "Blaise looked ready to peel your robes off with his teeth the second time setting your leg." Seamus punched her shoulder before responding.

"Yeah? If Marcus squeezed up 'gainst you anymore last night, you'd be riding his thigh."

Hermione licked her lips and moaned, "His thighs. Too bad we always catch him as a case." She hooked her arm through the crook of his elbow. "Nevermind boys. Curry?" Seamus let the pull of side-along apparition be his answer.

* * *

Blaise irritably twirled his wand, waiting between Hermione and Seamus for the muttering man to be led gently to a bed. The Janus Thickey Ward was desperately in need of expansion, and a another botched obliviation just further emphasized the crowding issues, the beds so close together that maneuvering patients required a deft hand and practice.

"Not your usual quality of work." Hermione scowled.

"Not ours. His boyfriend didn't know the difference between a swish and a flick, thought you would want to check him over before I tried reversing what I can." Zabini ran a few diagnostic spells before nodding.

"Whatever you can do for him is better than this drooling mess." The healer watched Hermione perform the obliviation reversal with crossed arms, then halfway through uncrossed them and leaned forward eagerly. As soon as she finished, Blaise excitedly asked. "What the hell was that?"

Seamus frowned, replaying his partner's casting. "That's what we usually do for obliviation reversal."

Blaise levitated a Quick-Quotes Quill and parchment as he started examining the patient, who had stopped muttering randomly and was asking lucid questions. "That was in no way the standard oblivation reversal." Hermione stepped back as much as the next bed allowed her, nervously wringing her fingers together.

"No, Seamus and I add in a few extras but it's all been documented. We never liked how bare-bones the standard was. All approved by our supervisor Christoph Hans and with low-level 's a mild long-effect remembering charm similar to Remembralls, basic charms to encourage hydration and blood circulation, a rune some healers use for detoxification, a focusing charm and a modified pensieve spell to sharpen day-dreaming." Blaise snorted, taking over the quill to make chart notations, before directing the orderlies to take the man to be examined by another healer.

"You've just potentially emptied a bed with your extras. I want you to do the same with a few other botched Oblivation patients." Seamus made a face at Hermione, nodding his head at the exit towards his escape, not getting far when Blaise placed himself bodily between the Irishman and the door. "Both of you." Then the healer pinched Seamus' ass, smirking at the yelp. "Go on."

* * *

…

_Thanks for the knitted blanket, you've really gotten quite good. Please recommend the best yarn brands to get, I would like to keep Molly busy knitting for her brewing grandchild._

_Marcus is doing well, and he manages the Statute of Secrecy by being televised during the games, but keeps away from endorsements. It would be difficult explaining how he disappears during the off-season if he were more recognizable._

…

Seamus sighed. "Flint, mate, you've gotta try something new. Whatever you've been doing obviously isn't working. Now Hermione, she's sensible, find a sensible girl, all Hermione-like." Hermione slowly pressed her foot down on top of Seamus' toes, trying to grind the bones into a fine mess of white fragments and gore. To his credit, Seamus didn't wince noticeably and just shifted in his seat beside the rugby player. Who was looking at Hermione with a rather warm grin. Seamus had his mouth open to say more, then frowned down at his phone vibrating across the tabletop. It glowed purple indicating a magical call re-routed from the Floo fireplace in their office. "Seamus Finnig - " Through the tinny speaker against Seamus' ear, Blaise's usually soothing tones were strident with an obvious command before the call ended. "Well, he's in a fit." Hermione made to slide out of the booth but was stopped when her partner held up his hand. "Don't bother, he didn't say anything about needing us both. I'll see what's what and let you know."

Hermione found herself left alone in the booth with a very handsome muscular Marcus Flint, a bead of sweat inching slowly down her spine. So started the most stilted conversation she had been party to, which devolved to arguing over caliber of athletes between the wizarding and muggle world. Hours later, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as she leaned back on the door of Christoph's walk-out basement suite. It was very annoying having feelings for a case, and there were moments where she had problems maintaining a grumpy attitude throughout all his attempts to chat her up. Especially when she wanted to squeal and climb him like a tree. She didn't have time to dwell on it.

Seamus' head floated in the green hue cast by the flames. "'Mione, that idiot Poole lost control of a basic Obliv, and he's been taking steroids and enhancers. So because he can't get his cock workin', he Obliv'ed over twenty people in his blast radius. Come help." Hermione shook her head to mentally right herself and walked into the fireplace. At least there was a better explanation for the mindless rages the senior Obliviator would go on.

Upon his suspension, there was a subsequent flurry of reallocating Poole's cases and general responsibilities. While the other senior Obliviators jockeyed for political power, the active work most times ended up on Hermione's or Seamus' desk. The work tripled following the suspensions of two more senior Obliviators, once Hans figured out they were incompetently attempting to steal credit from his junior Obliviator team for closed cases. On the last reassigned red file Seamus broke his other leg.

Seamus heard the snap and crunch, when the little girl's accidental magic ceased and her molesting three hundred pound step-father came crashing down from the ceiling. The grim concentration sharpened his face as he sweated through the pain, erasing evidence of the young witch and her daughter from their abuser's mind. Hermione softened the terror of the abuse without taking away the knowledge of their memories, and accompanied them to the Muggle Liaison Office to arrange for emergency housing, sparing her partner a stern look. Seamus grimaced, then apparated to the lobby of St. Mungo's, gritted through the levitation to an examination room, before manfully fainting at the sight of Blaise entering the room.

* * *

A large manila envelope dropped onto the desk in front of her, causing her quill to flutter. Hermione looked up to see the toothless grin of her landlord and supervisor Obliviator Christoph Hans.

"What's that?" Seamus asked from his sprawl on the floor, trying to catch up on the medical paperwork Blaise was insisting they filled to document their brand of Obliviation reversal. He was just halfway through the theoretical background of their detoxification rune. Hermione cautiously picked up and opened the envelope at Hans' raised eyebrow. She read the top page. Stopped. She read the top page again, then flipped through the rest of the document.

"My period of incarceration is over."

Seamus squawked, "Incarceration?" and his pile of parchment shifted and avalanched down as he tried to scramble upright. Hermione thought her voice was rather wooden, but distantly she thought that was quite appropriate given the circumstances.

"I argued on your behalf, based on your behaviour and work record to date. It was this or awkward questions during the ceremony when they gave you a useless medal." Hermione felt herself laugh but couldn't hear her own voice over the roar in her ears. "However, you will have to vacate my premises by the end of the month. Keep up the good work." Humor tinged Christoph's Austrian accent, and Seamus had given up trying to understand the senior Obliviator's sense of humour. He also gave up shaking his partner's shoulder, trying to break her out of whatever trance Hermione was in, and just snatched the papers out of her hand to read.

He snorted. "Oh! When you said incarceration, I thought they were going to lock you up. Well obviously you're getting what you deserve. Finally. I never thought it was right that you were punished, granted you're a brilliant Obliviator now. Urk!"

Hermione yanked him in closer by the neck of his shirt. "You knew?" Seamus pried his shirt out from her fingers and leaned back to inhale.

"Fuck's sake 'Mione, course I knew! It's in your public record, I wanted to know what our records said after academy to see what they'd be lobbing at us. Just figured you didn't want to talk about it." Seamus didn't really know what to do with a sobbing witch, so he just kept awkwardly patting her shoulder, until Hermione pulled away to wipe her tears and helped him right his collapsed pile of parchment. There was time later to be angry at herself for keeping non-secrets from her partner for no reason. "And it's bloody good timing. I've been wanting to move into this larger flat and with you as a co-lessee, it'll be peanuts."

The landlord agreed to a lower lease amount after Seamus broke his leg chasing down the non-paying tenant, who happened to be a parkour aficionado. Blaise had a right to be angry since he'd only declared the leg healed the week before.

"Finnigan, I'd be much obliged if you can manage to stay healed for longer than a week. Then I can finally invite you over for drinks and roger you senseless." Hermione struggled to contain her giggles as Seamus coughed frantically to clear the spit he had choked on; and because he had no shame, Blaise continued. "You will find it worthwhile putting in the effort of **not** breaking yourself, once you're sitting on my dick."

Hermione howled.

* * *

Marcus' fourth girl was rather sensible, a connection from his charitable efforts, until her brain broke when he tried to explain and demonstrate magic to her. Thankfully, the athlete had planned in advance and arranged for both Hermione and Seamus to be present during the explanation, rather than calling them in the aftermath.

"We see it quite often. Logic and science is prevalent in muggle culture with the misconception that magic has no place in coexistence. I'm very sorry Marcus. She was lovely." Marcus ran his hands over his hair growling in frustration, before yanking Hermione in to kiss her bruisingly, then stomping off to disapparate. She was so shocked that Seamus had to violently shake her for a response. Hermione's finger-tips hovered over her tingling lips.

"Guess you didn't notice the bird could've been your twin?"

Hermione couldn't help but feel disappointed at the owl she got later, in the middle of unboxing volumes of Arithmancy reference texts.

_Sorry about kissing you. Can we go on like it didn't happen? -MF_

Seamus cursed when he read it over her shoulder. "That motherfucker."


	5. Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seamus and Hermione finally take a break, with Blaise tagging along. The ever confident Irishman leans on his partner, as Seamus and Blaise reach a new level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The fourth section contains smutty-like items NSFW.
> 
> Beta-read thanks to Tanguera! Reviews are very much appreciated!

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Ginny and Harry had a baby boy! He's so cute, looks just like Harry. They threw a month old party, and found out Ron just proposed to one of our Hufflepuff classmates!_

_No, I haven't heard from Marcus lately, but maybe his current girlfriend is working out really well._

_I'd love to take a vacation. I just haven't decided when the best time is, it makes me nervous leaving Seamus alone to handle our cases. I might just end up coming back to see him in a body cast. Besides, where would I go?_

…

"Seamus, have you taken a look at our entitlement reports?" Hermione chewed on a sugar quill, finger running along the ivory parchment, feet propped up against the uneven stone of the small secure fireplace behind their desk. Seamus looked up from his sprawl on the floor, triplicating his reports from the last two weeks, and sending a constant stream of thick pink Tuesday inter-office communique airplanes that glided slowly from the weight of the parchment.

"'Mione, you know I don't keep track of that shite."

His partner rolled her eyes. "Well, did you know that we have exceeded the mandatory vacation quota? We've got over five months banked." Seamus blinked. "We're only getting three months then the rest billed out at the end of the year but that's still loads of time." Hermione blew a curl out of her face and waited, almost seeing his gears turn in thought. It was a few heartbeats before her partner unfroze.

"Right. Well, we're ahead in… everything we could possibly could be. I need to get a new pair of trunks, and you _definitely_ need a new cozzy. Uh, any reservations 'gainst any places?" Hermione stared, then smiled while she mentally smacked herself for worrying about facing the world alone, of course Seamus assumed they'd vacation together. They had already identified their probably unhealthy dependency early in their partnership, then shrugged and continued business as usual. Hermione wondered if they would have been more destructive if they had any romantic inclinations for each other, then shook her head dispelling the wasted thought.

"No. Thought Hans might not appreciate both of us gone."

Seamus shrugged as he stood and brushed himself off, already moving towards their supervisor's office. He knocked once against the doorframe then stuck his head in without waiting for a response. "Hans, we're taking off next three weeks for vacation. Might want to shift some things." Then dodged a hex from a bright red Hans. Seamus turned back to grin cheekily at Hermione, who mouthed, 'Three?' and received a wink instead.

Hans had gotten up from behind his desk and jabbed his finger in the air just a few inches from Seamus' chest, mouth open no doubt to deliver a scathing reply, then his mouth closed and his head cocked to the side calculating. Hermione and Seamus waited in amusement, ignoring the panicked air starting to build amongst their colleagues. Hans humphed then looked between the two junior Obliviators.

"One week."

Seamus raised an eyebrow. "Two and a half."

Hans crossed his arms. "Two. Don't push me."

Seamus glanced at Hermione who nodded, before he crowed. "Done!" and immediately grabbed the red file in the midst of zooming towards their desk, and swept out with Hermione trailed by the sounds of frantic scrambling and rustling parchment.

Hans calling out, "Progress reports from each and every one of you by the end of today."

* * *

Later they debated locations while waiting for results of their case subjects' examinations at St. Mungo's, drinking lukewarm tea in the fourth floor break room. The wizard currently examined had found out his girlfriend had been cheating on him with his friends, another wizard and a muggle, and was a possibly virulent carrier of an STI in the same shouting match. Blaise stopped just past the threshold to magically disinfect and cleanse himself before sitting down at their table, letting two folders fall onto the tabletop between them.

"No, this year Spain and Italy out produced France in wine. Why exactly are you two talking about wine statistics?" Hermione squirreled the folders away into her jacket's extension-charmed inner pocket.

"We're trying to decide where to go for vacation. There are several interesting wine tours next week, if we could decide where exactly we wanted to go on vacation." Blaise seized Seamus' mug of tea, ignoring his protest.

"You could use my villa in Majorca. I've been contemplating a break myself."

"How much for Seamus and I to rent it?" Blaise raised his eyebrow, setting the mug down indignantly.

"Nothing. I'm not sure how you've missed it Granger, but I'm actually independently and quite filthily rich without counting my wage here." Blaise leaned back and turned his gaze to Seamus. "And it's more than fair trade getting this one all slicked up in sunscreen and then peeling him out of itty bitty shorts." At Seamus' blush, Blaise crooned. "Oh yes lovey, you and me and a private beach." Hermione smirked behind her mug and let Blaise wax lyrical on which surfaces of his extensive property Seamus would enjoy getting fucked on, while rearranging his healer schedule and notifying his house elf staff to expect their arrival. Her partner stayed a constant red shade that spread past his collar-bone, and rolled his eyes at her before adjusting his robes to hide his lap.

* * *

Hermione got two weeks of reading and napping in the sun, really dark bikini top tan lines, and ate her weight several times over in seafood. The first three days, she went on two wine tours and shopping with Seamus. But the first breakfast after Blaise joined them, she snorted her tea at the sight of her partner gingerly seating himself. Seamus scowled at her and shoved two pieces of marmalade toast hungrily into his mouth. Both sides of his neck marred by a stream of dark messy lovebites.

"Slow down, you'll choke at this rate." As if on cue, Seamus coughed and guzzled tea to dislodge the dry bread.

"Fuck Hermione, I need to get in the calories. He's relentless."

She laughed, and he grinned at her. "So… good? It's wasn't all hype?" Seamus reached for the eggs and cheese.

"Well he's got the Finnigan guarantee. Might go into withdrawal when we get back." At that statement, Hermione stole his fork and brandished it at his face.

"It might not be over when we get back. It's too late for that sort of fatalism after all we've been through, Seamus Finnigan. Talk to him. I doubt he would be unprofessional enough to pursue something with a colleague he sees almost every day so casually." Seamus twisted his lips.

"It's too soon to talk about stuff like that." Hermione set the fork down so she wouldn't try to spear Seamus' fiddling fingers with it.

"Seamus. We see him everyday. He's not shy about his feelings for you. And if it takes a few minutes of talking about feelings to clear up any misunderstandings, which may last weeks if not months, I don't think I have to rehash how much shit we shovel because of breakdowns in communication." The Irishman scrubbed his face with his hands then hauled Hermione into his lap.

"We're in his fucking house. What do we do if he tosses us out on our ears?"

Hermione scoffed. "We go to France instead." Seamus laughed and hugged her tightly, before dumping her to the floor with a cackle at her squawk.

And it turned out she was right. Blaise Zabini left no doubt in either Obliviator's mind that he was a possessive and discerning lover, who had no intention of letting Seamus go now that he'd had a taste.

* * *

Blaise found Seamus and Hermione snoozing on a loveseat each in the library, books just inches from slack fingers. He traced a line in satisfaction over the hickeys, the touch snapping Seamus' eyes open.

"I think my bed is a little more comfortable, lovely." Seamus swallowed in response to the predatory gleam Blaise didn't bother hiding. There wasn't any hesitancy as he herded the obliviator into the opposite wing, but Seamus was pondering something. It was only when Blaise hungrily kissed him and Seamus didn't deepen it, that the healer pulled back. "Something on your mind?" The flush he usually enjoyed was back, but the Slytherin couldn't help feeling a chord of tension.

"Blaise, are we continuing this when we get back?" Seamus blurted out, idly tracing the texture of the sheets. "I would like to, but I'm not entirely sure if we're on the same page. I don't -" Seamus swallowed. "I know it's a bit soon to expect exclusivity, well on your part, I've no other prospects at the moment. But it'd be nice to know if this is a fling." Silence. Seamus stopped fiddling and looked up to find Zabini trembling in rage. Blaise closed his eyes and deeply inhaled.

"You will have no other _prospects_. This is not a fling and we will be unequivocally exclusive."

Seamus smiled. "Well, good." He reached out, and found himself on his back with Zabini staring down at him.

"Good?" Blaise's tongue invaded his mouth in the next breath, hands smacking away Seamus' to open his shorts and firmly grasp his cock. There was hasty mutter and Seamus arched back at the feel of Blaise's magically lubricated hand firmly stroking him. "Have I lost my skill after being celibate? You're already thinking of straying?"

"Ah! No-not what I meant. I-oh fuck-" Seamus squirmed against the teeth worrying at his nipple and the fingers slowly pushing into his ass.

"So I wasn't clear on how much I. Want. You. Every. Day." Seamus jolted at each firm push against his prostate. Writhing as a third finger was added and panting at the feel of teeth sinking into his shoulder, Blaise sucking hard and sloppy to Seamus' whine as he worked his fingers. "I thought you were asexual, how you never responded to my words. I was ready for that, ready to give that part of myself up. For you." Seamus moaned when Blaise stopped stroking him to pull on a condom.

"I th-thought y-you flirted with everybody." Seamus gasped out, while Blaise entered him with gritted teeth before building to an almost punishing rhythm, punching out grunts from both of them.

Blaise growled. "No one but you. No one but me. I haven't even started with you, Finnigan, and after yesterday-" Seamus didn't care if he was coming prematurely, the sudden onslaught of passion rendered him helpless and he shuddered against the orgasm. Blaise swallowed his gasps. Then held down his hips, surging forward. "Four times and I want you more each time. You wormed into my mind, and I'll be damned if you-fuck!" Seamus didn't know how Blaise was still hard, pumping his hips slowly in his own spunk, or still coherent. "We better be on the same fucking page now."

Seamus nodded and grinned dopily under the rush of endorphins. "You're my boyfriend."

Blaise sighed as he stroked as much skin as he could reach, while his breathing evened out. "Paramour. Suitor."

Seamus made a face as Blaise withdrew to start cleanup. "Suitor sounds a lot like marriage serious."

Blaise determinedly met his gaze as he banished the condom and summoned a washcloth, before stating. "Yes. Suitor is rather appropriate."

* * *

It was somewhat of a testament of how Blaise understood the relationship between Seamus and Hermione, when hours and another round later he said, "I know you share everything with Hermione, and I doubt you would share so freely with anyone else, but I've been wrong before. Our relationship will not be a secret, but I would rather keep as much detail between the two - three of us as possible." Seamus dazedly nodded, freshly showered body slumped against his… suitor, who was gratingly energized. Blaise gave him a nudge and Seamus toddled off on jello legs, while Blaise left with an urgently squeaking elf about an issue with muggle squatters on the easterly edge of the property.

Hermione was eating fruit while lounging in a hammock. It took some maneuvering but Seamus managed to wedge himself in with her, stealing grapes.

"So…"

"You were right. No France." Hermione slapped his hand from the bowl of fruit, waiting. "He's serious."

"You've been dancing around each other for six months, Seamus. You're limping so I know you had acrobatic sex, but did you talk?"

Seamus sighed. "He's my _suitor_ , Hermione." He poked her in the boob when she mulled his statement a moment too long.

"Ow! Suitor in the actual definition?"

"Yes, marriage was mentioned and it feels weirdly victorian. Like I should hie off to obtain a corset and bonnet."

Hermione crunched through a strawberry. "I'm sure Blaise would just send a house elf or bring in a seamstress, you have absolutely no trousseau to speak of." Then squealed as Seamus almost upended them tickling her.


	6. Climax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Seamus return from Majorca, to Marcus breaking up with another girl. They find out their professional exploits have caused some ripples in medical academia, as documented by Blaise. Marcus apologizes in the best way to Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third section contains smutty-like items NSFW.
> 
> Beta-read thanks to Tanguera! Reviews are very much appreciated!

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Majorca was fantastic, I nearly had the whole villa to myself. Seamus and Blaise are quite serious now. I think Seamus has realized that Blaise's flirting wasn't just for fun, when he asked him to move in. Blaise is the type to just go after what he wants, and Seamus is rather skittish in how fast it's all going, so they've tabled it for now. Of course, rent will be a little more expensive once Seamus gets over himself but it's still quite affordable compared to other prices I've seen._

_It was a shock to get back and see Marcus' face all over the Prophet with his latest break-up, this time a witch. We're starting to wonder if he's cursed, but the amount of publicity may be why he's stuck to non-magical girls before now._

_..._

Seamus hollered to his partner in the kitchen. "'Mione, have you seen the papers yet?" He jumped when she answered by his ear.

"No." Then slid the newspaper from his fingers.

"Oi! Papercuts!"

Flint's moving face deeply frowned as he unhappily watched two women try to kill each other in front of him. The text identified the brunette woman in a short sheath dress as his latest girlfriend, pureblood socialite Isobel MacDougal, crying as fistfuls of her hair were being yanked out by Madam Lavender MacMillan. The blurb expounding that the newly-wed Madam MacMillan's rage had driven her to assault her husband's mistress in public, within an upscale restaurant.

"Poor Lavender." Hermione had approved when the on-again, off-again saga between Ron and Lavender had ended, with Lavender kissing Ernie MacMillan in a large fairy-tale high society wedding. But it seemed the happiness was short-lived. Seamus snorted as they watched Flint drop his napkin and leave in disgust.

"Poor Lav, nothing. Been waiting for that girl to grow a spine. Won't be surprised if Ernie falls right in line when she's through with him." Seamus lazily summoned parchment and quill. "So… we having a pub night with Flint?" Hermione laughed as her heartbeat quickened.

"Yeah, he's not one of our red files for once, but it's tradition now. Have to give him credit for still trying, but the man needs to get properly soused."

* * *

"Tough luck, mate." Seamus slapped Flint's shoulder, winking at Blaise who was sipping at a whiskey. Flint grunted and gestured to two pints already waiting on the tabletop. Hermione slid into a worn wooden chair, ignoring the sticky floor as she moved it. Blaise's hand landed on top of Seamus' knee.

"You took your sweet time."

Hermione blushed. "That was my fault. Surprise meeting with Hans." Seamus cocked his head, and grinned before setting his glass down.

"She's going to take her swottiness to the next level. Lecturing at Hogwarts _and_ the Academy in a couple of months." He cackled gleefully. "Oh, you should have heard her, told him where to shove the notion, then Hans pulls out his trump card. Ol' McGonagall had sent an owl saying how she and the other professors were looking forward to auditing an alumnus lecture."

Hermione grunted unhappily and cradled the glass in her hands, meeting Marcus' intense gaze for a moment before determinedly shifting her attention to Blaise and Seamus. She berated herself. 'The man wants to act like it didn't happen. Don't be a twat about it.' But she could feel Marcus staring and Seamus wasn't hiding his amusement at the whole situation.

Blaise signaled the waitress. "Well it's about time. I've sent compilations of your Oblivation reports to multiple teaching hospitals, and my published summary has resulted in ridiculous amount of Howlers. But the effects are indisputable." Seamus and Hermione froze.

Seamus asked carefully, "Your _published_ summary?" At his question, Blaise quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes, I told you about it a few weeks ago." The Obliviators traded glances, it was during their frantic bid to clear enough workload for Hans before Majorca.

"We weren't named in this summary, were we?" Hermione questioned delicately. Both Slytherins were clearly mystified and Blaise irritated in particular.

"No, but it won't be hard to figure out with the amount of time you're at St. Mungo's. You realize I only meet the other Obliviators twice a month versus multiple times a day with you two?"

Seamus nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, but the general public and media won't necessarily connect us with it. At least not immediately, and it's been thoroughly documented in triplicate with a history so they can't make much of a fuss about proper procedure."

Hermione made a face. "No, but healers and professional pride. Poole. Anyone Blaise has pissed off. But Kingsley's signature was on the alternative methods memo Hans had sent out."

Thick rough fingers snapped impatiently between Hermione and Seamus' noses. Marcus set his pint down with a thud. "What the fuck are you two on about? Blaise has been on and on about this being a breakthrough. I've even read it and it's right brill. What's it matter with the Minister's signature and proper procedure."

Seamus scrubbed his hands through his hair. "Hermione and I… look, we do a good job, but sometimes it's not by time-old traditional methods and we piss people off. It's been like that since the Academy."

Hermione shook her head. "Even before that."

"Right, when we were in school, during the war, right after the war. Some would spit in our faces and die, than have us save them. Just… don't name us, if you can help it. You've worked hard to be where you are, Blaise."

"And you haven't? Fuck that noise."

Marcus snorted. "War was supposed to end all that shite prejudice."

Seamus shrugged. "Surprise. People don't change."

"Or they start showing their true colours." Hermione darkly uttered. Her partner slung an arm around her and smacked a wetter than necessary kiss onto her cheek. Seamus smirked through her outraged squeak, and waved an arm at the closest waitress.

"Nah, they're all red inside. Until their insides are outside. But still red."

Blaise jabbed a finger at Seamus. "I can definitively tell you there are multitudes of yellow and brown inside every person." Marcus snorted in his beer and started choking at Hermione's expression of disgust.

* * *

Marcus knocked, shifting his arms minutely when he started feeling his load sliding. Hermione opened the door just in time to take the tower of steaming aluminium containers, watching curiously as a freshly showered Marcus cursed at two cardboard boxes bouncing from strings looped over his forearms. She let him in and watched the care he took to place the boxes on the floor, enjoying how he filled out his dark denims.

"Marcus, why are you bringing me -" She sniffed the containers on the counter. "Butter chicken? And what's in the boxes? Nevermind that we _just_ finished helping Seamus move in with Blaise."

Marcus rubbed his finger-tips nervously against his hips muttering, "Shay better be right 'bout this."

"Shay better be right about what?" Hermione amusedly tracked the procession of thoughts flit across his face, half guessing what was going on when one of the boxes started jumping. She humoured the poor man when he mumbled through a half-assed explanation about christening rooms, Blaise recommending Indian takeaway, and Seamus saying 'Mione was probably feeling all alone in the flat by herself. "Right. Fuck this. Marcus are you going to date me proper, or what?" Then found herself pressed against a wall.

Flint's lips and tongue were soft and persistent, his aftershave tickled her nose. Hermione quickly ducked her head and sneezed into his chest. They both froze. He started laughing, stripped off his shirt, wrapped strong large hands around her waist and placed her on a barstool. Hermione lost time, her hands stretching across broad muscled shoulders, her thighs hitch up around lean hips. Marcus' tongue fucked into her mouth, his fingers tracing heat along her back and scalp, burrowed under her shirt and into her hair. Hermione pulled away to gasp and Marcus groaned, trailing kisses along her jawline and neck.

"Yeah, I'm going to date you proper. Kiss you. Touch you. Eat you. Fuck you _right_ proper." She squeaked at his thumb firmly tracing her seam through fabric. Hermione moaned when she felt his finger bypass shorts and panties to sink slowly but surely into her. Marcus swallowed the rest of her noises, kissing her through the pump of his finger. Pushing hard against his shoulders, Hermione held him back, admiring how dilated his pupils were. His fingers stretched towards her crotch as if it hurt to be parted from her, and the bulge in his jeans made the whole picture unbearably attractive.

"Wait! You still haven't apologized for being a berk about kissing me before." The man whined, shook his head to clear it slightly, licking his lips. Marcus nodded panting slightly.

"I was a berk, absolute tosser. I shouldn't have kissed you then, but I shouldn't have apologized about it because I want to do it all the time." Hermione cocked an eyebrow.

"All the time?" Marcus nodded.

"Everywhere." Hermione let him push closer at that. Let him pull her clothes off and widened her thighs to let his thick fingers stretch her open. Let him haul her knees over those broad shoulders, and lick at her spasming body as he vigorously massaged her g-spot. His tongue delved through her sopping wet folds hungrily chasing her taste as it leaked around his fingers, flicking her clit before sucking it in and leading her to the edge.

Hermione vaguely thought it was odd the boxes were moving by themselves while she recovered from her first orgasm, then stopped thinking as Marcus started pressing the head of his cock into her, while whispering filthy streams of words into her ear. The stool squeaked against the floor as he thrust. His hips rippling against hers, barely pulling out as if he couldn't bear to leave her heat, before slamming back in. Hermione couldn't catch her breath, he was so thick inside her, stretching her with strong short thrusts with a hip twist at the end that made her want to wail. Rugby was a wonderful sport, just the loveliest for giving Marcus powerful thighs with stamina. She shook apart clenching hard against Marcus grinding in firm circles, murmuring how hot and tight and delicious her pretty little cunt was.

It made sense now. He was terrible at communicating normally because he was a genius at dirty talk.

...

Hermione sat on the floor, digging into her rice and chicken as sweat cooled on her skin. She was surprised it was still warm, it hadn't been a fast coupling. Marcus sat next to her, pushing off one of her new cats from trying to paw at his fork with a careful nudge of his knee. She smiled, Seamus must have told him to bring out every weapon in his arsenal. How could she say no to cats, Indian takeaway and mind-blowing sex?

Marcus rumbled through her thoughts.

"Sorry, zoned out a bit. What did you say?"

"You dating me, is that going to affect your closure rate?" Hermione laughed, and laughed, until she cried. She could give two fucks about closure rate.

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_There has been some progress in the Longbottoms cognizance, they react to people in older pictures regularly, and seem to anticipate their routine. We cautioned Neville to not get his hopes up. They will never function normally but there is enough brain tissue regeneration to consider releasing them from the permanent ward, into the Longbottom manor with attendant house-elves and a live-in medi-witch. Blaise is beside himself and has been writing papers like a madman._

_The workload is starting to ease off, the first set of Obliviators we have mentored are taking on their own cases now. Seamus and I are able to make more matches, and I think Marcus and Blaise get a kick out of how we scandalise the WAGs. WAGS are the same, whether rugby or quidditch. Several of them have those dogs that poop in their purses. Marcus still twitches whenever he's too close to one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever wonder where I get my chapter titles? They aren't random. Ghosters titles are based on stages of haunting. Also, when you want to envision Marcus in his rugby uniform - look up Dan Carter, All Blacks Rugby team.


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